


The Blue Room

by Bitchii_usa



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:36:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitchii_usa/pseuds/Bitchii_usa
Summary: Vegeta visits a smoky little jazz club and walks away with more than he bargained for. Vegebul short AU set around the '40s.





	1. Chapter 1

> The Blue Room 

 

I’ve had this AU in my brain for awhile, thinking of making it a VERY short story. Here’s part 1 

 

oooOOOooo 

 

It’s a cool and damp night, the kind that makes Vegeta want to go out and cause some mischief. He can’t help but feel his fingers itch with the promise of beating someone bloody and raw until they beg for his mercy. But tonight, he’s feeling a bit lucky. And all he wants is to do is head on down to The Blue Room and cuddle up with a few glasses of whisky and sleep under the thick blanket of jazz. Tonight, he doesn’t want to be a shadow waiting at the end of the alley. Tonight, he wants to pretend that he’s a regular fellow with nothing better to do on a Saturday night. 

 

He’s heard good things from the shore of South City since The Blue Room opened. ‘The best jazz this side of the ocean!’ has rang in his ears more times than he can count, so he decides to head on down and see what the buzz is about. He’s even found his best suit; a sharp number that is known to make the ladies croon in delight and the men move out of his way. It makes him feel powerful, and Vegeta never objects to feeling like a king. 

 

The pale blue lights welcome him as he steps through the doors, the room smoky in a haze of secrets and sex. A smooth piano rift transports him to another place and time, and he looks over to the musician with compliments. He recognizes him immediately. Raditz’s brother. The man who was either too dumb or too smart to join his older brother in one of the most ruthless gangs in the area. Kakarot, if he’s not mistaken. He looks towards Vegeta and nods in understanding, showing that he recognizes him too. 

 

Vegeta turns his head and steps towards the circular bar, sitting quaintly against the deep blue walls of the room. Coconut trees flash in and out behind the bartender, inviting anyone with a strong enough appetite for the dark liquors inside. He takes a stool and scoots up, leaning against the countertop. 

 

“What’ll it be, mister?” The bartender looks like a young boy, Vegeta thinks. But if he’s old enough to sell him a drink without getting the law involved, he won’t complain. 

 

“I’ll start with a Tom Collins,” he demands huskily, fishing in his coat pocket for his wallet, “And make it a double.” 

 

“You got it, mister.” The barteneder’s head is shiny enough that Vegeta can see Kakarot glaring at him from behind. He’s probably wondering if he’ll be up to no good in his establishment. Vegeta smirks; he’s always up to no good. 

 

“Is it your first time here?” The bartender pours the concoction in a glass and slides it over to Vegeta, leaving a trail of spirits in its wake. Vegeta ignores him and presses his mouth to the rim, letting the liquid burn his tongue with delight. The bartender is unperturbed by his mannerisms and keeps talking. “I haven’t seen you around these parts before. You sure picked a special night to visit.” 

 

Vegeta looks up at him, the question why swimming in his eyes like barracudas. He takes another long sip of his drink, resisting the urge to throw the glass against the wall and demand silence. The bartender gets it and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Vegeta notices for the first time that he doesn’t seem to have a nose. 

 

“Well, it’s her night, after all. The crème de la crème, the dame of South City, the Belle of the ball-” 

 

“Who?” Vegeta asks impatiently. Surely if such a woman existed, he would have ran into her by now. After all, the shores of this city belong to him, and he knows every footprint that marks the sands. 

 

“Oh, wow, you are new ,” the man shakes his head, wiping away the mess on the counter. “ Everyone knows that she’s the gem of this dump. That’s why we’re so busy tonight especially. Well, you may have come here with ignorance, but you’ll definitely know her name by the time she leaves.” 

 

Vegeta straddles the line of curiosity and not giving a damn. How many little starlets come here to make something of themselves, only to wind up in some drug induced stupor and begging him for a fix? He’s heard this tale before, and he doubts that whoever she is will have an effect on him like the blobbering idiot before him. 

 

That is, until the lights dim down. 

 

In the darkness, Vegeta can taste the lust of the men who’ve clutched their seats a little tighter, turning to the stage and pressing their hands in their tight suits. The smoke from their cigarettes choked him as soon as he entered, but now he’s seeing more ashtrays being passed around and more butts being dumped. “She’s coming out,” the bartender says, licking his lips and abandoning his job. Vegeta looks over his shoulder as a single light illuminates the stage, showcasing a curvy silhouette behind a sheer curtain. 

 

Whistles parade around the room, the men reminding him of a hungry pack of wolves ready to gobble this dame up. He’s disgusted by them, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the sheer curtain and the woman behind it. She’s bent over and running her hands up her shapely legs and he feels his groin twitch as she glides over her thighs. Just as she’s almost in a standing position again, the curtain slides to the left, revealing the most beautiful creature he’s ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes on. 

 

Kakarot’s fingers produce a milky string of chords at the piano, a smoke little riff that she’s switching her hips to seductively. He doesn’t notice it, but he’s turned fully around in his chair, completely under her trance. Her hair is the color of the waters of South City, and he doesn’t need to be close to the stage to see the sparkle of her sapphire eyes. Her lips pout into red pillows and she walks towards the mic, a silver little number hugging her figure deliciously. She opens her mouth to speak and he’s already about to sink into the floor. 

 

Her eyes run over the crowd and she smiles. She’s like a little kitten who’s begging to lap up milk, and he’s about to run to the store to get her some. She croons over the piano notes, her voice as soft and sultry as she is. 

 

I’ve got my eyes on a man. A strong kind of man. He’s the kind to leave me under his spell. 

 

It’s almost like she’s purring, this exotic little kitten, with every syllable that escapes her lips. 

 

I want to touch him and see. Will he be good to me? Or leave me to wilt, I can’t tell. 

 

“What’s her name?” He asks the bartender with urgency. His mouth is salivating and he drinks more of his liquor to stop himself from drooling. 

 

He’s like whisky and smoke. If I’m not careful, I’ll choke. But mama didn’t teach me well. 

 

“Bulma,” the bartender says her name like it’s oxygen, and Vegeta plays with it over his tongue. He likes the way it smooths out his mouth like marble. 

 

I wonder what he’ll do. When I tell him the truth. How I’m completely under his spell. 

 

She shimmies her shoulders and rolls her hips smoothly, earning a mixture of applause and whistles from the crowd. She’s walking down the stage, singing and flirting with the men who’ve moved their seats, giving her a center aisle. 

 

A center aisle that is leading directly towards him. 

 

She notices him sitting against the bar, his demeanor quiet unlike the chaos around him. She’s interested, he can tell. She further proves this by walking towards him slowly, making each step her own show. Vegeta can’t take his eyes away from her thick hips or the sparkling fabric. Everything about her screams of an orgasm. 

 

He’s too hot for the touch. But I need him so much. Oh, boy, what’s a lady to do? 

 

She’s getting close enough that he can taste whatever perfume she’s doused herself in for the night. Her blue curls are electric, like lightning in the middle of a rain storm, and they bounce against her shoulders as she approaches. He runs his eyes up to her breasts. Even through the material of her dress, they look like the softest satin he’s never touched. 

 

Is he ready for me? 

 

She runs a finger in between the cutout of her dress, lightly touching her breasts, and he can feel the goosebumps on his own chest. 

 

Is it possible? Can it be? 

 

She’s close enough to reach out and touch him, and she takes his hand and curls it around her back, making him push her in between his legs. She looks down on him and smiles, running her fingers through his hair. Vegeta is trapped. He knows she can smell the desire pouring from his skin. Her fingers are like the skin of ghosts, and he shivers every time they touch his skin. She runs one finger across his lips and leans in close, and he can taste the peppermint that she most recently ate. 

 

That I’ve got him under my spell, too. 

 

Before she turns and leaves, she squeezes his hand, slowly removing her warm thighs from his own. He wants to squeeze her in his legs and taste her skin, see if the kitten is as good as she smells. Instead, he’s cruelly exposed to the smoke of the bar again, and he can only watch her plump behind sashay back to the stage, finding other saps to toy with. He bites down his lips in jealousy; she shouldn’t be touching anyone else but him . How could she want to anyways? 

 

She looks at him again over her shoulder before she steps up the stage and smiles challengingly. He thinks to himself that she’s either the smartest woman alive or the dumbest to look at him like that. His cock twitches with his wild imagination. He finishes his drink as she finishes her song, the sheer curtain covering her again. 

 

Vegeta vows, wit> The Blue Room 

 

I’ve had this AU in my brain for awhile, thinking of making it a VERY short story. Here’s part 1 

 

oooOOOooo 

 

It’s a cool and damp night, the kind that makes Vegeta want to go out and cause some mischief. He can’t help but feel his fingers itch with the promise of beating someone bloody and raw until they beg for his mercy. But tonight, he’s feeling a bit lucky. And all he wants is to do is head on down to The Blue Room and cuddle up with a few glasses of whisky and sleep under the thick blanket of jazz. Tonight, he doesn’t want to be a shadow waiting at the end of the alley. Tonight, he wants to pretend that he’s a regular fellow with nothing better to do on a Saturday night. 

 

He’s heard good things from the shore of South City since The Blue Room opened. ‘The best jazz this side of the ocean!’ has rang in his ears more times than he can count, so he decides to head on down and see what the buzz is about. He’s even found his best suit; a sharp number that is known to make the ladies croon in delight and the men move out of his way. It makes him feel powerful, and Vegeta never objects to feeling like a king. 

 

The pale blue lights welcome him as he steps through the doors, the room smoky in a haze of secrets and sex. A smooth piano rift transports him to another place and time, and he looks over to the musician with compliments. He recognizes him immediately. Raditz’s brother. The man who was either too dumb or too smart to join his older brother in one of the most ruthless gangs in the area. Kakarot, if he’s not mistaken. He looks towards Vegeta and nods in understanding, showing that he recognizes him too. 

 

Vegeta turns his head and steps towards the circular bar, sitting quaintly against the deep blue walls of the room. Coconut trees flash in and out behind the bartender, inviting anyone with a strong enough appetite for the dark liquors inside. He takes a stool and scoots up, leaning against the countertop. 

 

“What’ll it be, mister?” The bartender looks like a young boy, Vegeta thinks. But if he’s old enough to sell him a drink without getting the law involved, he won’t complain. 

 

“I’ll start with a Tom Collins,” he demands huskily, fishing in his coat pocket for his wallet, “And make it a double.” 

 

“You got it, mister.” The barteneder’s head is shiny enough that Vegeta can see Kakarot glaring at him from behind. He’s probably wondering if he’ll be up to no good in his establishment. Vegeta smirks; he’s always up to no good. 

 

“Is it your first time here?” The bartender pours the concoction in a glass and slides it over to Vegeta, leaving a trail of spirits in its wake. Vegeta ignores him and presses his mouth to the rim, letting the liquid burn his tongue with delight. The bartender is unperturbed by his mannerisms and keeps talking. “I haven’t seen you around these parts before. You sure picked a special night to visit.” 

 

Vegeta looks up at him, the question why swimming in his eyes like barracudas. He takes another long sip of his drink, resisting the urge to throw the glass against the wall and demand silence. The bartender gets it and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Vegeta notices for the first time that he doesn’t seem to have a nose. 

 

“Well, it’s her night, after all. The crème de la crème, the dame of South City, the Belle of the ball-” 

 

“Who?” Vegeta asks impatiently. Surely if such a woman existed, he would have ran into her by now. After all, the shores of this city belong to him, and he knows every footprint that marks the sands. 

 

“Oh, wow, you are new ,” the man shakes his head, wiping away the mess on the counter. “ Everyone knows that she’s the gem of this dump. That’s why we’re so busy tonight especially. Well, you may have come here with ignorance, but you’ll definitely know her name by the time she leaves.” 

 

Vegeta straddles the line of curiosity and not giving a damn. How many little starlets come here to make something of themselves, only to wind up in some drug induced stupor and begging him for a fix? He’s heard this tale before, and he doubts that whoever she is will have an effect on him like the blobbering idiot before him. 

 

That is, until the lights dim down. 

 

In the darkness, Vegeta can taste the lust of the men who’ve clutched their seats a little tighter, turning to the stage and pressing their hands in their tight suits. The smoke from their cigarettes choked him as soon as he entered, but now he’s seeing more ashtrays being passed around and more butts being dumped. “She’s coming out,” the bartender says, licking his lips and abandoning his job. Vegeta looks over his shoulder as a single light illuminates the stage, showcasing a curvy silhouette behind a sheer curtain. 

 

Whistles parade around the room, the men reminding him of a hungry pack of wolves ready to gobble this dame up. He’s disgusted by them, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the sheer curtain and the woman behind it. She’s bent over and running her hands up her shapely legs and he feels his groin twitch as she glides over her thighs. Just as she’s almost in a standing position again, the curtain slides to the left, revealing the most beautiful creature he’s ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes on. 

 

Kakarot’s fingers produce a milky string of chords at the piano, a smoke little riff that she’s switching her hips to seductively. He doesn’t notice it, but he’s turned fully around in his chair, completely under her trance. Her hair is the color of the waters of South City, and he doesn’t need to be close to the stage to see the sparkle of her sapphire eyes. Her lips pout into red pillows and she walks towards the mic, a silver little number hugging her figure deliciously. She opens her mouth to speak and he’s already about to sink into the floor. 

 

Her eyes run over the crowd and she smiles. She’s like a little kitten who’s begging to lap up milk, and he’s about to run to the store to get her some. She croons over the piano notes, her voice as soft and sultry as she is. 

 

I’ve got my eyes on a man. A strong kind of man. He’s the kind to leave me under his spell. 

 

It’s almost like she’s purring, this exotic little kitten, with every syllable that escapes her lips. 

 

I want to touch him and see. Will he be good to me? Or leave me to wilt, I can’t tell. 

 

“What’s her name?” He asks the bartender with urgency. His mouth is salivating and he drinks more of his liquor to stop himself from drooling. 

 

He’s like whisky and smoke. If I’m not careful, I’ll choke. But mama didn’t teach me well. 

 

“Bulma,” the bartender says her name like it’s oxygen, and Vegeta plays with it over his tongue. He likes the way it smooths out his mouth like marble. 

 

I wonder what he’ll do. When I tell him the truth. How I’m completely under his spell. 

 

She shimmies her shoulders and rolls her hips smoothly, earning a mixture of applause and whistles from the crowd. She’s walking down the stage, singing and flirting with the men who’ve moved their seats, giving her a center aisle. 

 

A center aisle that is leading directly towards him. 

 

She notices him sitting against the bar, his demeanor quiet unlike the chaos around him. She’s interested, he can tell. She further proves this by walking towards him slowly, making each step her own show. Vegeta can’t take his eyes away from her thick hips or the sparkling fabric. Everything about her screams of an orgasm. 

 

He’s too hot for the touch. But I need him so much. Oh, boy, what’s a lady to do? 

 

She’s getting close enough that he can taste whatever perfume she’s doused herself in for the night. Her blue curls are electric, like lightning in the middle of a rain storm, and they bounce against her shoulders as she approaches. He runs his eyes up to her breasts. Even through the material of her dress, they look like the softest satin he’s never touched. 

 

Is he ready for me? 

 

She runs a finger in between the cutout of her dress, lightly touching her breasts, and he can feel the goosebumps on his own chest. 

 

Is it possible? Can it be? 

 

She’s close enough to reach out and touch him, and she takes his hand and curls it around her back, making him push her in between his legs. She looks down on him and smiles, running her fingers through his hair. Vegeta is trapped. He knows she can smell the desire pouring from his skin. Her fingers are like the skin of ghosts, and he shivers every time they touch his skin. She runs one finger across his lips and leans in close, and he can taste the peppermint that she most recently ate. 

 

That I’ve got him under my spell, too. 

 

Before she turns and leaves, she squeezes his hand, slowly removing her warm thighs from his own. He wants to squeeze her in his legs and taste her skin, see if the kitten is as good as she smells. Instead, he’s cruelly exposed to the smoke of the bar again, and he can only watch her plump behind sashay back to the stage, finding other saps to toy with. He bites down his lips in jealousy; she shouldn’t be touching anyone else but him . How could she want to anyways? 

 

She looks at him again over her shoulder before she steps up the stage and smiles challengingly. He thinks to himself that she’s either the smartest woman alive or the dumbest to look at him like that. His cock twitches with his wild imagination. He finishes his drink as she finishes her song, the sheer curtain covering her again. 

 

Vegeta vows, with absolute certainty, that he will have her by the end of the night. 

 

oooOOOoooh absolute certainty, that he will have her by the end of the night. 

 

oooOOOooo


	2. Chapter 2

> The Blue Room 

 

Part II 

 

oooOOOooo 

 

Vegeta’s is contemplating if he should continue his mission. Not because he’s changed his mind or thinks it’s a lost cause, but because he’s simply tired of waiting. He’s already ordered more drinks than his liver can take, and the bartender - who Vegeta has learned is named Krillin - has even mentioned a few times that he should call it quits and head on home. But if it’s one thing Vegeta isn’t, it’s a quitter. 

 

In fact, he has sat through four numbers that this stellar dame - Bulma- has serenaded the room with. Her voice is milky over his ears, and under the rouse of the liquor he’s been drinking, he’s even pretended that she’s singing solely to him. Only problem is, she hasn’t looked his way since their first rodeo; at some point, he wonders if she even remembers that he’s here. 

 

He remembers slamming his glass on the counter and demanding Krillin for one more drink, something stronger this time to soothe the beast in between his legs. Krillin sloshes some sort of dark motor oil in the glass and gives it back it back to him with a warning: “This stuff is practically poison, mister. I’d be careful if I was you.” Vegeta ignores him promptly and washes his mouth with it, the burn in his throat matching the burn of his stare on Bulma. She’s toying with him, she just has to be. He doesn’t want to admit that this is just her bit, that he’s another one of her ducks in a row. He could press his fingers together and a flock of broads would come runnin’, but he doesn’t want them. Vegeta is tired of amateurs; he’s looking for a star . 

 

And Bulma is brightest one on top of the whole goddamned tree. 

 

But because he’s killed his idle time with a whole bottle of whisky, he’s stumbling out of the bathroom like a baby learning to walk, and he pinches his nose to regain some sort of clarity. The soft, yellow lights scattered throughout the lounge doesn’t give him much courage that he won’t bump into something, but he’s got a reputation to uphold. And being some poor drunken slump in a room full of whispers and rumors isn’t the type of presence he’d like to leave behind. 

 

He hears a lot of hubbub around the bar, even over the ritzy number that Kakarot is playing. Vegeta looks over at the man, and he seems to be side eyeing the rowdy herd in front of Krillin. Vegeta isn’t sure if it’s the poison or his itch to always be in the loop, but he rolls up his sleeves and heads over. 

 

He spots the blue before he even fully approaches, and his body gets hot - - - especially in the parts south of his belly. 

 

He can hear the mongrels begging and shooting their shots, offering to buy the lady a drink or other services. One man is practically spilling into her lap, asking her if she’s ever been married before. Vegeta is feeling frustrated at seeing them act so desperately, but more importantly, he’s feeling territorial. Because the seat next to Bulma is the seat he has been sitting in all evening, and another man is currently occupying it. 

 

He marches over, feeling sloshy and shaky, but as soon as the smell of her perfume wafts in his nose, he stands a little straighter. He’s moving his way forcefully through the crowd, and he realizes that he doesn’t hear her respond to their antics. Some of the men are sizing him up, questioning ‘who the little man thinks he is being so pushy like that.’ Vegeta’s eyes are sharp daggers that he cuts at them, and most of them shut up. 

 

He’s close enough to feel her now and he’s got tunnel vision. Well, he’s got something close to tunnel vision, but his eyes are watery and his head is spinning, and it’s not solely because he’s wondering what she would feel like writhing beneath him. He cuts through the last man, tapping him heavily on the shoulder. The man turns around and is about to slew some sort of profanity at Vegeta, but his eyes go wide with recognition. He apologizes in a stutter and dashes off, looking back at Vegeta as if he’s just seen the grim reaper. Now the only thing standing in his way is the idiot in the seat. 

 

“Scram,” he says in a low voice, although his eyes are pressed to Bulma’s cheek. She isn’t even acknowledging his presence, instead drinking the same substance that has gotten him in this condition, a cigarette dangling between her delicate fingers. He’s noticed that she’s changed from the silver getup to a red dress. It’s holding her heavy breasts with conviction, and he can even see the perk of her nipples. Either it’s really cold in here, or she’s impressed with his stern tone. Whichever one, he can’t get over the fact that she looks like a Christmas present, with her sleeveless dress tied in a bow behind her neck and all. He wonders what she looks like if he were to unwrap her. 

 

“Awh man don’t be a bug,” the man slurs his words, and Vegeta knows that he won’t make it long in an upright position, “Just fuck off and find someone else to jerk it to.” 

 

Vegeta’s clenching his jaw and squeezing his fists, preparing to knock the sobriety back into the asshole. But before he can make a move, she leans over and places a hand on the man’s shoulder, making him look at her. 

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, honey,” she looks up at Vegeta and smirks at him, “This guy here is a member of the Cold gang, the most ruthless in town. Vegeta, right?” The way his name rolls off of her tongue makes him dizzy with lust, and he can’t help but wonder how she would say it in all sorts of scenarios. The drunken man stutters something in fear -what it is, Vegeta doesn’t know (doesn’t care) because he isn’t listening anymore- and staggers away. Vegeta immediately sits down in his place and becomes engulfed in her cloud of nicotine smoke as she exhales, feeling himself being pulled in by the lassos of her eyes. 

 

“So you’ve heard of me, is that right?” 

 

“Who hasn’t?” She takes another drag of her cigarette slowly, her eyes never straying from his. He doesn’t even think she has blinked. She nods back toward the stage. “I’ve known Kakarot for quite some time. His brother Raditz is a part of you mobsters, right? Your name comes up a bit.” 

 

Figures. Raditz is a big mouth who only cares about killing, fucking and drinking. His lips are as loose as his sexual activities, and if he wasn’t so entertaining, Vegeta figures the man would be dead already. Bulma runs her tongue over the top row of her white teeth, and he straightens his collar. It’s getting stuffy in here, he thinks, and he’s sure it’s due to the heat of her eyes. “You’re a dangerous man,” she says as more of a statement than a question. “From what I hear, a very dangerous man.” 

 

Vegeta leans in closer as if she’s about to whisper in his ear. “Is that why you’ve been ignoring me since that first song and dance? You afraid?” 

 

She chuckles and puts her cigarette out, instead taking a large gulp of her drink. Vegeta watches her throat bob the liquid down, and he is inclined to run a finger down her porcelain skin. After she finishes, she says, “Spare me your apple butter. I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” 

 

For some reason, this excites Vegeta more. He knows she’s serious because he’s been trained to spot a lie. The skin on her face is written with adventure, her pheromones reek of risk taking. She reminds him of a lamb begging to get gobbled up by a wolf. And he’s the big bad one. 

 

“Ain’t that a bite?” He says huskily, “And here I was thinking you were the type to run away from bad news. Most broads do.” 

 

“Yeah, well I aint like most broads ,” she bites the word down harshly, and the blue flame of her eyes spark up. He can tell he’s irritated her, and this makes him even more intrigued. “I’m a lady. I’m a Bulma.” 

 

“I know the name.” He can’t stop looking at her, even to the point he’s forgotten to continue his sentence. He wants to chase the words that have gone back down the ladder of his throat, but he’s too busy drinking her up. Sobriety will never find him as long as she’s around. “Prove it to me then.” 

 

“Prove what?” She challenges, although the tone of her voice indicates that she already knows what he means. She just wants to hear him say it. 

 

“Prove that you don’t have any fear.” He leans in closer so that their faces are almost touching, and he catches her take a quick gaze to his lips. Her eyes slowly roll up his face and he can spot her attraction underneath her magnificent blue. “Come home with me.” 

 

She blows out a laugh. “Why should I?” She says, finishing her drink, but her eyes tell a different story. 

 

“You aint like other broads? I’m not like these schmucks.” He waves a finger through the crowd. His stare is dark and penetrating, and he knows he’s got her like a fish on a hook. “A woman like you and a guy like me. What a dangerous combination.” 

 

She parts her lips and tucks her tongue behind her top row of teeth, sizing him up. Her mind is clearly made up when she locks eyes with him again, and he doesn’t need to hear her say it before his palm is stretched out, waiting for hers. “Lucky for you, I like to play with danger.” She places her palm in his and he pulls her forward, her chest mashing against his. 

 

Lucky for her, so does he. 

 

oooOOOooo


	3. Chapter 3

The Blue Room 

 

Part III 

 

oooOOOooo 

 

It has taken much restraint, but Vegeta manages to bring Bulma back to his apartment in her full attire. 

 

The insides of his palms sting from the insane amount of pressure he’s applied to the steering wheel . He grips it until he’s sure the skin of his hands are cracked, but if he takes even a pinky off, he’ll find himself losing control of the car. From the moment Bulma sits down in the passenger seat, the sweet floral of her perfume soaking into the red leather interior, he has a hard time keeping himself composed. He’s used to women ogling over his fancy car, a brand spanking new ‘52 Bentley Continental that he shows off in pride, but Bulma is telling the truth when she says that she “ain’t like other broads.” She takes one look at the metallic silver finish and smiles at him sincerely, right before she says, “I have the same make and model in candy red,” in stride. She even mentions how she’s trying to increase the horsepower, something that Vegeta has always wondered is possible. He finds himself asking how a pretty lady knows so much about cars as he opens the door for her. Bulma rests her hand on top of his and leans in close, speaking into his cheek about how her looks are only the beginning. 

 

Vegeta has to cover the middle of his pants to hide his interest. 

 

The lock that clicks inside of his home has always taunted him of his isolation, but tonight he feels like it’s congratulating him for finally bringing someone over. There’s a mirror right beside his front door that catches Bulma’s reflection and throws it back at Vegeta, almost knocking him off of his feet. He doesn’t bother to kick off his shoes and instead cozies up behind her, gently moving the hair away that sticks to her neck. She surprises him by leaning into his chest as if she’s done this a million times before. 

 

“I hope you don’t think I do this with every handsome man that tries to sweep me away,” she says as they move towards his living room sofa. He doesn’t feel like she needs to explain herself even if she has -after all, he has chosen her - but a spark of curiosity ignites in his chest. 

 

“Oh?” He brushes his lips on her shoulder, tasting the rose soap that she must have bathed with, “Then what makes me so different?” 

 

She turns around on him then, her breasts smashing into his chest. “Every man I encounter seems so boring ,” she rolls her eyes to emphasize her disapproval, “It’s always the same with every one of them: They want to bring me home and pump into me until they pass out on top.” 

 

He raises an eyebrow as he looks slightly down to her, his thumbs kneading the sides of her waist. “How do you know that I’m not planning the same thing?” 

 

This elicits a laugh out of her that comes from her belly, and she throws her head back briefly. “ Nothing about you is boring.” She runs a finger up his chest, playing with the dips and planes that are results of his excruciating work outs. “Not your body, your face, or this hair ,” she admires it and he feels slightly insecure about it, unsure if she’s teasing. The glint of a smile in her eyes tells him otherwise and he relaxes, allowing her to 'pet’ him as she pleases. “Every bit of you screams 'wild ride.’ I know that you’re going to take me on one.” The arousal of her lips shine at him as she pulls him in closer, her breath ghosting on his lips. 

 

He feels a bit of heat rush to his cheeks. Bulma is so outspoken, so comfortable with her sexuality. Most broads like to play the cat and mouse bit, and it’s something that he’s grown bored of in the past years. It’s the reason why it’s been ages since he’s brought a woman home; the whole innocent-but-sexy-act gets entirely old after the third or fourth bimbo. 

 

But not her. She’s looking at him like she’s the one that’s going to fuck his brains out, and he holds on to her dress before she topples him over. It’s making him more eager than he could have anticipated, and his cock throbs with the promise of entering her. She must feel it too, because she looks down to the small space between them before smirking back at him. “Well, big boy, you certainly waste no time.” She presses her cheek against his and whispers lowly in his ear, “And I haven’t even gotten started yet.” 

 

Her lips find his neck and he’s surprised that she’s managed to make him so weak this fast. It’s a foreign feeling, him being the submissive one, and he marinates how he feels about it for a second before he feels her warm hand over the bulge in his pants. He lets out a groan against his will and she chuckles against his neck as she works over it, teasing him through the thick fabric. He can feel drips of precum forming at the tip and he has to mentally chastise himself to get it together. He didn’t wait at The Blue Room for hours just to blow his load by way of a phantom hand job. 

 

Finally, Vegeta has decided to turn the tide in his favor. He pushes her back towards the couch, and he’s sure they have knocked a lamp off of the table. Her body is hot and anticipating, but her hand hasn’t stopped its torment. He grabs a handful of her dress and runs his palm over the nipple that has been teasing him for the past hour, and she lets out a contented sigh. She uses her other hand to untie her dress and it spills down like a waterfall, leaving behind two of the greatest wonders of the world. 

 

Her breasts are the prettiest things he’s seen, and he can’t help but to taste them. He wants to take his time, but the way that Bulma is grinding her hips into him with need tells him he doesn’t have a lot of it. Somewhere between the left and the right nipple, she’s managed to sneak her hand past his buckle and grab a hold of him, making him hiss like a snake. She chuckles and shimmies her dress the rest of the way down, letting it fall to her feet so that he can drink her in all of her glory. She has an unfair sort of beauty; the kind that exists on billboards over the beach, except she’s a lot more real and a lot more mouthy. She catches him staring and raises an eyebrow up, flashing him a cocky smile. 

 

“Like what you see, big daddy?” She cups her breast without a trace of hesitation, letting go of his cock to throw her arm around his neck. “I shouldn’t be the only one giving up the goods.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively before looking to his clothes, indicating that he’s overly dressed. 

 

He understands and complies, quickly unbuttoning his top and shaking down his pants, until he is standing before her in all of his naked splendor. She can’t tear her eyes away from his body, and her gaze trails all the way down until they land on the prize - her prize. Her lips part and her cheeks flush, and Vegeta instantly gets a confidence boost from her stares. 

 

“Oh, golly,” she breathes, “Kami really went all the way when he made you, huh?” 

 

He should be saying that to her. 

 

She leans her body into his, the heat of her core warming his erection. Vegeta isn’t anywhere near her entrance, but he can feel the moisture of her arousal already, and his mouth begins to salivate. “Where does a hunk of man like youeven come from?” 

 

“Hmph,” he grins, “Where all of us dangerous men come from. The mouth of the devil himself.” 

 

“Is that right?” This has amused her, and she chuckles softly as she brings her face in closer. “Well I for one am glad he decided to spit you out. Speaking of mouths, there’s one thing you’ve gotta do before we take this any further.” 

 

Vegeta feels impatience begin to gnaw and lick at his skin like a lion. Her hand is pressed to his chest to stop him from going any further, and he’s barely able to restrain himself from pouncing on top of her and sinking into her repeatedly. He’s ready to hear her cry out her pleasure, and he’s ready to lose himself in his own. It’s exactly like the song she was singing at the lounge earlier; she’s definitely got him under her spell. “And what is that?” He questions in a low tone, feeling himself about to burst. 

 

She closes the gap that is between their faces, touching noses with him. She bats her thick lashes and says, “You’ve gotta kiss me, first.” 

 

oooOOOooo 

 

Thank you guys again for the reviews! Because Tumblr has this whole “safe filter” thing going on, I won’t make this too NSFW . But don’t worry guys, smutfest is coming very soon, after all. ;) One more part remains!


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